


Illogical Math

by skyline_blue



Category: Charlie Bone Universe - Jenny Nimmo
Genre: (again), (but he is), Gen, Missing Scene, anyway, catch the references to the prequels, contrary to the title there is very little math in this fic, featuring: my worldbuilding headcanons, manfred vs the spirits, manfred's terrible horrible no good very bad day, manfred: i aint afraid of no ghosts, mrs tilpin is in a flashback, no one asked for this but here i am writing it, really its me looking at the spirits and going "???", so is the rest of the evil kids, the more i think about the implications of lysander's powers the more disturbed i am, yes i HAVE been thinking about this for years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline_blue/pseuds/skyline_blue
Summary: The story doesn't start here, but some how it forces Manfred to be locked in a chest in the creepy basement.(If you ask him, it's all the spirits' fault.)Or: Manfred gets locked in the basement with some....things. He would really like out now, please.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Illogical Math

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritersforBetterThings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritersforBetterThings/gifts).



> Me, living my life: You know what i should do? Post more fic no one will ever read!
> 
> (and then i proceeded to do so)
> 
> Notes from when I wrote this about a year ago: this is another missing scene, right at the end of book 6 where Manfred gets locked in a chest in the drama department basement (long story). I know book 6 is very heavy on exposition but the character interactions at the end are great.
> 
> Extra notes: apparently in canon Asa's rescue starts at 2 am instead of midnight. I did not realize this while writing because every other escapade in this series happens at midnight, and I have decided not to change it.
> 
> Extra notes part 2: dedicated to the person who _still hasn't given me back my copy of the silmarillion, JILL, geez_

1 am.  
_Status: locked in a chest._

Manfred was tired of being scared. He was tired of not being able to hypnotize, of not being able to fight back, and of not being able to move inside this stuffy old cage. He couldn’t change positions very well, and his legs were starting to cramp. He felt annoyed at his earlier behavior. How was he going to explain to his great-grandfather? “I hid in a chest because I got scared of some spirit ghosts?” Yeah, like Ezekiel would buy that. Manfred snorted.

A few minutes ago, he had heard the sounds of shuffling feet and hastily hushed whispers. Then something near his ear had clicked and there was a loud creaaak of a trap door opening. Manfred assumed Charlie Bone and whoever the little brat had taken with him (probably Billy) was gone. That meant Dagbert failed. Curse Bone for predicting their ploy. Curse Sage more, though.

If only he hadn’t gone to look further into the basement…

Manfred cracked the lid of the chest again. The silvery, fiery glow of the things trapping Manfred still lit up the basement room. Manfred squinted against the light. If they were still here, then who had left…?

Sucking up his courage, Manfred threw open the lid of the box. 

There was no one there. The basement was empty. Well, empty except for the spirits. There were seven of them in total, ephemeral, tall, faces blurred and shadowed where they flickered in and out of focus. The tallest emanated drumbeats, deep and echoing through Manfred’s skull. All he could see clearly of them was their hands, brown and weathered, and the flashing gold on their weapons. They looked dangerous. He’d seen them a few times before, but they were still terrifying. 

The important thing was, one was blocking the stairs to the stage, and another was blocking the hidden passage down below. Manfred was trapped.

He could try sneaking around them, but unless they were here for a different reason, they were here to keep him here. Probably a bad plan.

Manfred stood shakily, and stepped out of the chest. The spirits did not react at all. Maybe….

The moment he stepped outside the semi-circle, a spear bared the way. The flickering face looked down at Manfred, the head tilted. Manfred got the feeling it was laughing at him. He stepped back, though, heeding the warning. No escape.

“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Manfred’s voice echoed over the throbbing drums.

There was no response other than the pounding rhythm.

Manfred wanted to scream. Screw you too, Sage.

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

2 am.  
_Status: trapped in the evil lair creepy basement. Still._

His watch said it was 2. One hour down, who knows how many left to go.

The spirit thingies just sat there watching him try and fail various ways of contacting his allies. Maybe they could block cell phone service, who knew. As he sat in his bored, annoyed silence, he tried to think up another way to escape. 

His mind came up empty, of course, and Manfred was stumped. Next time, he was buying ghost repellant. If that was a thing. If it was not, he was going to make Ezekiel invent some. His great grandfather was supposed to be a magician, after all.

Manfred wondered what would stop these ghosts. He had talked to Titiana Tilpin about it before during one of her weekend lessons for the other endowed, but she didn’t have many answers. 

_“All I know is that they are neither alive nor on the human plane fully, yet somehow they have physical substance.” She had said. “They are summoned by a distinct and ancient African dialect, most probably the one the Red King himself spoke. No one in this city, or maybe even the world, knows it besides the spirit callers because the tribe that spoke it was murdered and wiped off the face of the Earth over a thousand years ago.”_

_Someone, one of the twins probably, had piped up. “But didn’t one of THEM use spirits last semester to fight Count Harken?”_

_Titiana scowled. “Yes.” Her ancestor and his banishment is a sore spot for her still. She then moved on to describing the other endowments of the rebel group of descendants of the King. Manfred tuned most of it out. He already knew._

_But at the end of the lesson, Joshua had commented, “Spirits seem kind of unbeatable compared to the rest, don’t they?”_

_“Well,” his mother said slowly, “I have my theories. They make certain noises, drumbeats precisely, that I believe allows them to access the physical world, or maybe communicate with their caller.”_

_“So if someone...silences them, they can’t be summoned? Whoa!” Dorcas looked thrilled._

_“Exactly! The only issue is finding someone with the specific endowment of silencing soundwaves and testing this theory. But to do that, we have neither the resources nor the time. Speaking of time, it is late. Now, off you children go to your beds!”_

But they didn’t have a silencer. Manfred had no idea if an endowment like that existed. It mattered little, anyway, because Manfred was still stuck in this damp, dark room alone. He yawned. Maybe if…he...used the clothes…in the chests...

He didn’t realize he fell asleep until he woke up.

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

5 am.  
_Status: half asleep, still trapped, and definitely planning revenge to enact when free_

It had been hours, miserable long hours since Manfred had made the stupid decision to indulge his curiosity. It felt weird, the situation unchanging even though Manfred knew the sun would be closer to rising outside. The spirits still watched and beat their drums, the stairway still existed beyond the ring of spirits, and Manfred still was trapped. 

He had tried to sleep, tried to entertain himself, but all had been to little avail. Manfred was hungry and tired and frustrated with everything. Stupid Charlie Bone. Stupid Asa Pike. Stupid spirits. Stupid Lysander Sage.

The drumbeats felt like thunder now, pounding through the walls and giving him a headache. They didn’t seem to tire or grow bored or show any emotion except that first flicker of amusement. The cold, hard ground was also not the best sleeping place. Manfred was going to kill Charlie when he got out of here. (Not if, when. He was going to get out...right?) He sighed and shifted position. 

Time went on.

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Manfred woke to the fading drumbeats when his watch chimed half past 6. He opened his eyes to flashes of color and light that blinded him, but slowly faded away. He looked up.

The spirits were leaving.

They were more transparent now, and Manfred could feel their presence diminishing. The tallest of them met his eyes, and for a split second Manfred could see him clearly, dark eyes and hair and beard, flowing robes, deep shadowed wisdom. Then he was gone. The drumbeats throbbed to a standstill. The spirits faded.

Within seconds, Manfred was left alone in the dim basement room.

The way to the stair was unguarded at last. In shock, Manfred walked towards them and then started running. Maybe they weren’t gone. Maybe if he tried to leave, they would come back-

He shut the trapdoor at the top of the stairs behind him. The auditorium was just as empty and silent as it had been when he went down last night. Nothing had changed.

A few feet away from the trapdoor, something glittered on the ground. There was the key to the trapdoor, just lying there as if it hadn’t caused all this trouble. It was a choice. A test. 

Manfred was not going to play by their rules. 

He threw the key as far as he could into the rows of silent seats and did what he always does: he didn't look back more than once. The instant of regret is just that: an instant. It’s the cry for his mother when she left him, the moment of curiosity about why his grandfather left the family, but that’s all it is. Fleeting.

So Manfred drags himself to his room, locking the door behind him, and curses the whole lot of them for trapping him, when in reality he was the one who did it to himself.

End

**Author's Note:**

> so sorry for any grammatical mistakes!


End file.
